A Wild Biker Appeared
by Sigil of A
Summary: A man stands at the crossroads between a childish prank and violence. Very short. Reviews, critiques or anything else welcome.


**BRIEF INTRODUCTION:** So this started out during a discussion of crossovers that would never work and I was inspired to try and make it work anyway. This is not meant to be a parody or crackfic or anything like that. In order to try and merge these two disparate worlds, i had to create an original character that could plausibly fit into either universe. The story is presented as is. Thoughts, reviews, comments, and anything else are welcome.

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The trouble was that the orange evening sun, once his favorite thing to see in his rearview mirror, was now beating down on his reddened neck. Blake had worked on motorcycles most of his life and until today, he had never faced a problem with his custom built rat bike that he couldn't fix with his own hands. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag that had seen enough oil spills and metal to permanently stain it a dark grey. The highway was long and barren aside from dust and the assorted cacti that littered the sides. He used warm asphalt as a seat as he squinted along the road, hoping to see another rider. He didn't expect the kind of tourists that drive station wagons and SUVs to know how to fix a bike. The pack on the side of his motorcycle contained a sleeping bag with a pistol tucked snuggly away from prying eyes. A howl wafted over the hills behind Blake.

"Gonna be a long night," he said. He began rummaging through the pack when a roaring commotion caused him to look up. Bewildered, he saw a smattering of bicycles peddling frantically down the road. The leader of the pack, no older than fifteen with spiked hair the color of fire, looked frightened and out of breath. They seemed to notice him despite their panic and swerved towards him.

"Hey, mister," the red-headed leader said, out of breath, "You've got to help us. This crazy guy is after us and we didn't even do anything." The leader looked back nervously like prey expecting to be ambushed.

Blake cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. He looked the group up and down, noticing the eclectic rainbow of hair colors and leather vests they wore. Clearly, Blake thought, they're punks who messed with the wrong person.

"Look, I'm not good with kids," Blake said, "Just apologize or whatever." The kids looked around nervously and Blake wiped the sweat from his forehead and sighed. "What's your name?" Blake asked. The fiery headed leader in the leather vest spoke up and said, "I'm Chopper and this is Tyra," he said, pointing to the girl with long green hair and an oddly short skirt. He opened his mouth as if to introduce the rest of them but Blake held up a hand to silence him. The less he knew about them, the better. Blake turned his head to try and place a faint noise, barely audible over the whimpering kid. He smirked and felt a weight lift from his shoulders, "Now that's a bike," he said. Although Blake vastly preferred the company of motorcyclists, he was also wary of the more volatile ones and had no intention of appearing vulnerable on the side of the road. The rumbling grew louder and he stood by his bike, chest out and shoulders back.

A loud cycle came hurtling around the bend with a bulky rider astride it. Blake could see as he approached that it was a large man with a worn, haggard face adorned with a scraggly grey beard. Blake waved him down and the man pulled over next to him. Not surprising, Blake thought as he saw the large patch on the back of the man's leather vest. It read "Sons of Anarchy". On the front, there was a patch that touted him as a secretary. Hard to believe considering his stature, Blake thought. The kids were huddled behind Blake, the leader standing behind the others as they tried to step further back. The biker got off his motorcycle and looked at Blake.

"You with these punks?" The man asked. He dusted off his vest and stared at them.

Blake turned to them briefly, saw the pleading look in their eyes and replied that he was not with anyone. Blake noticed the man seemed to loosen up a bit, as if he was no longer expecting trouble. "Name's Blake," he said as he extended a hand towards the stranger.

"Bobby Munson," the man said, shaking the hand with more than a little hesitation. He saw the little gang of kids trying to inch sideways to where their bikes lay heaped in the dirt and stared them back into fearful submission. "Well since you're not with them, why don't you give me and these kids some time to," he paused, clearly savoring the thought, "discuss their rudeness." Bobby took a single step towards them and the kids cried out in an exaggerated manner.

Blake shrugged and sighed. "I can't," he said, "Bike's busted." He looked at Bobby and knew enough that what the man had in store for those kids was anything but a peaceful discussion. Bobby was clearly frustrated by this development.

"Well why don't you walk back the way you came? This is between me and these punks," he said, tensing up. Blake recognized the situation was escalating beyond his liking. He looked at the kids and back at Bobby. Chopper was still in front of his friends but his knees were wobbling and he looked as he was about to give out. The physical exertion of being afraid for so long was taking its toll on all of them.

"Okay," Blake said, scratching his head. He looked back at his motorcycle. "Just let me get my pack and gear and I'll leave you to your business." He walked over to the bag on his bike and saw that Bobby was saying something to the kids. With his attention diverted, Blake pulled the pistol from the bag and pointed it at Bobby. "Hey," Blake shouted. Bobby saw that he was covered by the pistol and clenched his fists then relaxed them.

"You'll end up regretting this," Bobby said, "The Sons won't take this laying down."

"Yeah," Blake replied, motioning for Bobby to get back on his bike. "Just leave and we'll be good." Bobby walked towards his bike, unfazed by the gun aimed at him. He raised a middle finger at the kids and promised to find them again. With that threat, Bobby cranked his motorcycle's deafening engine and roared back down the road from where he came. Blake sighed and tried to hide the shaking of his hands. "So what did you guys do to him anyway?" he asked the kids. Chopper looked at his friends and seemed relieved.

"Well some of the guys were questioning my valuable leadership and dared me to push over these bikes we saw at a rest stop," Chopper said. Tyra stepped forward as well.

"Nobody thought he'd actually be dumb enough to do," she said.

"I should have just let him get payback," Blake said. He gathered his bags and provisions from the useless motorcycle, shoved Chopper out of the way, and sat on his bike. "I'm taking this," he said. Blake peddled down the road, hearing the kids argue about who was going to get stuck with the leader riding with them. Whether its kids playing at being a dangerous gang or actual dangerous motorcycle gang members, Blake thought about his dislike of both and the choices he had made in the pursuit of freedom. He thought about his young son, so far away. This line of thought made him reminisce about his hometown and the possibility of returning there. Would they welcome him back with open arms, he wondered. Blake Ketchum decided he could wait to find out.


End file.
